


i must know...

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [79]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:06:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: imagine if Ian had arrived just a few minutes later in 03x07…





	i must know...

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/167088232407/i-must-know) on tumblr

Claire: Jamie – maybe we could find a place of our own.

Jamie: And leave the brothel?

Claire: Surely you don’t expect us to make a home here?

Jamie: No, not forever, perhaps. But for now, we have everything we need. And there’s no rent to pay – nearly every shilling I earn I send to Lallybroch.

Claire: Well I was thinking…maybe I could make some money as a healer. It felt good today to have a patient. Perhaps I could work from the back of the printshop – or open an establishment of my own. We could build a happy life here in Edinburgh.

–

Claire sat up a bit straighter in the suddenly uncomfortable chair – watching her husband cross his arms tightly across his chest, lips pursed, brow furrowed into lines she had never seen before.

He was listening to her – letting her speak. Respecting her.

But would he want to talk about it?

God, they were back to square one, weren’t they? Her mind flashed to that terrible time at Leoch, when so much ice had come so quickly between them. They had both had to compromise, then – and it had been hard work, but all was truly well, afterward.

Now she closed her eyes – centered herself. Breathed deeply. And lay her right hand on the table – palm up, her (his) wedding ring dark in the candlelight. Waiting.

Six breaths – and then the fingers of his left hand twined with hers. Gripping so tight.

The pads of her fingers brushed against the tendons in his wrist – pulse racing, coiled, tense.

She opened her eyes – saw him watching their hands.

*It’s me. It’s just me. I know you – you know me. We will make this work.*

“Does it bother you that I’d like to…to earn money?”

He sighed – clearly struggling to find the words.

“It doesn’t mean that I don’t think you can support us, Jamie – only, I have talents, so I might as well – ”

“It does,” he blurted. “It bothers me, if ye really want to know.”

She turned over their joined hands. The candlelight washed the color from the four scars she knew so well – three vertical lines along the backs of his fingers, circular nailmark on the middle of the hand.

And noticed, for the first time, new scars. A horizontal line at the base of his thumb. Grooves on his wrists – dear God, was that from when he had been shackled in prison?

“I have much more experience than…than I did before. I’m much more confident.”

“Ye have *always* been confident, Claire. Perhaps ye feel more so now. But – ” Now his knuckles went white. “But Edinburgh – it minds me of Paris. All manner of people, looking to take advantage of anyone. Of a woman like you, especially.”

“I’ll ask Fergus to come with me. Or Yi Tien Cho – or Young Ian, even. I have skills and knowledge to share, and to help make people’s lives better – ”

“What about *our* life together, then?” he hissed. “I canna have ye in my life if ye dinna take care of yerself. I – I…” He swallowed now, throat thick – desperately caressing her ring with his thumb. “I leave ye for two hours, Claire – and I come back to our room, and ye’re in yer shift wi’ a wee knife, standing over a man who just tried to rape and kill ye – and yet ye insist on tending him?”

Now she looked up – to meet his eyes, so wide, so full of tears. Brimming with barely suppressed rage.

“It’s no’ about the money. Ye’ve supported us on that before, and I’m grateful for it. I *want* ye to follow yer calling. It – it makes ye whole. Give ye a purpose. God knows I understand that. But Claire – ”

Here his voice broke, and he slammed his free hand on the table.

“Can ye see it’s no’ safe for ye here? It’s never *been* safe for ye. And now ye’re back, and wi’ in a day someone has already tried to kill ye. I – I can’t…”

Not letting go of his hand, Claire pulled her chair across the creaky floor. Sitting side by side – the long, graceful lines of his thighs pressed up against hers – she reached her left hand around his back. Holding him. Feeling him breathe – short, shallow.

“Do you remember what I told you, in Paris? How bad things happen when we’re apart?”

“They do,” he whispered. “They have.”

She lay her head on his shoulder.

“It bothers me that what – that *who* – ye are means that I’ll constantly be worrying for ye.” His voice was strong – but his arms trembled with so much feeling. “Afraid that every time someone comes to ye, they could give ye a…a filthy disease that could kill ye. Afraid that if ye go to someone’s house, they’ll do something to ye and ye’ll never come home to me.”

He sighed, leaning against her, cheek atop her hair.

“It would be different if we had a croft, away from the filth of this city. Folk are kinder there – they all ken each other. Here – here it minds me so much of Paris. And seeing you in it – I can’t help but…weel. But remember all of that.”

For a long moment they just listened – to the crackle of the fire, to the giggles across the landing, to the clip-clop of carriages in the street below. To the precious gift of each other breathing.

“We don’t have to have an answer right now, Jamie – we need to think about it. To work it out, together.”

“Aye,” he breathed, “We will. I suppose we have nothing but time, now.”

He squeezed her hand once more before letting go and retrieving first her glass of wine, then his.

“Should I commission yer own sign to hang wi’ mine, then? ‘C. Malcolm, curer of poxes, remover of splinters, mender of broken hearts’?”

He clinked his glass against hers, smiling.

“I suppose something like that. Or just a smaller sign to hang beneath yours – C. Malcolm, Surgeon.”

Jamie took a long draught of wine. Watching her.

Sadness crept into his eyes.

“What I wouldna give for you to be known as Fraser again,” he whispered.

She set down her glass and reached up, running the back of her hand against the thick stubble on his cheek.

“What I wouldn’t give for *you* to have that, Jamie.”

Claire kissed away the tears so he wouldn’t taste them on his lips.


End file.
